At the Prancing Pony
by Mackenna
Summary: Merry's experience of the events in the town of Bree. (book-verse)
1. Part I

**Title**: At the Prancing Pony

**Genre**: General

**Rating**: G

**Summary**: Merry's experience of the events at the Prancing Pony. Book verse.

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_"At that moment they heard a door slam; then feet came running along the passage. Merry came in with a rush followed by Nob. He shut the door hastily, and leaned against it. He was out of breath. They stared at him in alarm before he gasped: ' I have seen them, Frodo! I have seen them! Black Riders!'" _ (Tolkien, Lotr: fotr, p.228)

Merry Brandybuck sat back in his chair, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, gazing contemplatively into the flames that flickered and crackled, dancing in the hearth before him. Wisps of curling smoke rose from the pipe at his mouth, hovering in the quiet and darkened room. Faint voices, song and laughter could be heard from the common room of the inn, just paces away.

So much had happened. So much that none of them, that not even he, had counted on happening. So much in such a short time, in such a short distance. So much and they were only leagues away from the Shire. The Black Riders. The Old Forest. Old Man Willow. Tom Bombadil and the fair lady Goldberry. The Barrow Wights. Yet, they had made it this far, and for the most part unscathed. Much more careful and cautious they would have to be, and swifter too. They were no longer in the comfort and safety of the Shire.

Merry wondered where Gandalf could be. Was he not to have met them on their journey already? Perhaps he would arrive soon. Merry hoped that it would be soon, for outside the Shire and past Bree, Merry's knowledge of the lands around was scarce, and not much of use to Frodo. Gandalf would turn up. In the mean time, they would have to ask for direction and continue. They would be alright. He would come.

As Merry drew himself away from his deep thought, he became aware that not only was he smoking his pipe, but gnawing at the end of the slender handle as well. Taking the pipe from his mouth, Merry examined the tooth marks embedded within the polished wood, a wry grin forming on his lips. It had always been a habit of his, chewing on whatever was at hand, ever since childhood. He could vividly recall Esmeralda Brandybuck scolding him for gnawing at various pieces of furniture. Of course, he had long stopped chewing on furniture as he had as a young lad, but the habit would still make its appearance whenever he was occupied in deep thought. If he was not careful, Merry was sure he would gnaw away until naught of his pipe remained. He had better stop, and get up. He did not fancy having to ask to borrow one of Peregrin's pipes, as Pippin was quite a bit fussy on lending over his beloved pipes, even to Merry.

Stretching, Merry stood up, flipping his pipe around and laying it on the table. Perhaps now would be a good time for a walk. Merry peered out the window. The moon was now up high. It did not look as if Frodo, Sam and Pippin would be back any time soon. Buttoning his cloak, Merry left the parlor, sliding out the passage, out a side door, into the streets of Bree.

_To be continued…_


	2. Part II

Merry had been to the town of Bree several times before. As a young lad, he had often accompanied his father, the Master of Buckland, on much of his business travels, eager to see the world beyond Buckland. Of course, though he did enjoy seeing other parts of the Shire as well as the lands beyond the borders, he still felt there was no place like home.

Home. He wondered if he would ever see it again, and if he did, when.

Merry paused, looking towards the steep hobbit holes that made up a portion of Bree. It could almost be reminiscent of home, though Bree was different somehow: not so much in its appearance, but in its feel, its atmosphere. Had it always seemed like this? Perhaps. It was only natural that different lands evoked different feels, was it not?

Resuming his pace, Merry gazed up towards the stars that twinkled brightly in the dark abyss of the night skies. He wondered if the familiar night sky hung in the same manner here as it did the rest of Middle Earth. Did the stars twinkle in Mordor? Were there stars at all?

_Mordor__.___

He swallowed.

He must not think of that just yet. Not out here. Not in the dead of night.

Merry began to walk faster, soon finding himself back where he started: at the Prancing Pony, just beyond the ring of light emitted by a glowing lamp.

_Mordor__.___

He shivered, pulling his cloak closer about him. Turning, he made to go inside, but stopped, a slight movement in the near distance catching his eye, a faint shadow, slipping further into the darkness.

Something was there…

_ Inside…he should go inside…back in…_

But what was that? He wanted to know. He wanted to find it.

_Inside…__ Go inside…_

No.

Slowly, he began to walk towards where the shadowy figure had appeared, eyes strained, for he could no longer see it. Merry did not know why he was following… he knew he should get as far away from it as he could, but yet, he was inexplicably drawn to it; he could not pull away.__

A gust of chilling wind swept through the night, and Merry drew his cloak closer still. But his cloak could not keep out the growing cold that had begun to seep through his clothes, through his flesh, a cold that was growing within his very heart.

He could barely see. The darkness seemed to envelope him, the cold, smother him.

_Go…_

He flinched, feeling his face coming into contact with thin, spindly branches.

He could hear ill voices, bone chilling voices, voices hissing with anger, hatred, vengeance.

Merry trembled violently, drawing in a shuddery breath.

_ He had to get out of here…He could not go further…_

It was so cold. So very cold. He could not breathe. He could not move.

_Go now…_

He had to go. He had to get away. It would get him…It was going to get him…It was coming…

_GO NOW…_

As if he had been struck, Merry staggered, trying to pull away, falling roughly onto his knees.

_GONOWITSCOMINGONOWGONOWGONOW_

He turned…

And facing it, he knew no more.

_To be continued._

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_Author's Note: I've changed the title from "Black Breath" to "At the Prancing Pony" as I plan to do a wee bit more to it than I had originally planned._


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